The Case of the Crimson Ribbon
by AwkwardFalafel
Summary: Sherlock accepts a case of twisted proportions, unaware of the importance it holds. Rated T for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

I wake up, confused for a moment, before I realise what has happened. I clutch at my neck and feel my still beating pulse. I am alive. For now. I get up and stretch, pushing all emotions out and away until I feel only cold and, well, feelingless. I dress quickly after glancing out the huge window that takes up a whole corner of my small room. It's raining- again. I pull on my blue patterned cut off denim shorts and a tank top emblazoned with the Union Jack. I ruffle my chin length, curly, dirty blonde hair, looking pleased at the one orange streak in the front. I rummage through my battered dresser until I find two socks- one orange with yellow stripes and another that is brown with little foxes on it. I sigh while pulling them on, then grab my striped oxfords and grey jacket with orange piping and buttons. I shuffle tiredly down the spiraling stairs until I reach the bottom floor. "Morning Hannah" I call as I fling open the heavy kitchen door. Hannah drops the bowl she was washing and fans her face while clutching at her throat, gasping. "You have... The ribb... The ribbon... But how long?" Her face is pale and her eyes wide. "48" I reply stiffly, reminding myself to feel nothing and eliminate the fear. Hannah bustles over to me and hugs me tightly, I can feel her large frame shaking as I stand rigid in her arms. "Oh you poor dear!" she cries as she pats my arm in a matronly way. "It's fine I'm going for help right after breakfast," I say trying to make my voice sound confident and reassuring. It doesn't work very well because Hannah looks as though she is about to cry and she pulls me to her side going on about how I'm too young and the whole thing is simply wretched. She pauses to take a breath and I tell her, "17, Hannah. I'm 17 now," she merely sighs and says quietly that that's still too young. I wiggle my way out of her iron grip and make my way to the fridge, my stomach rumbling. I find nothing suitable and groan in complaint. I slide up onto the counter, slipping my oxfords on and lacing them up. Hannah looking worriedly at me from the other side of the huge kitchen bursts out, "At least let me cut it off honey, it only serves as a reminder and you don't need that today." I look down at the crimson ribbon tied on to my neck and picking at the bow part I look warily at the small printed 48. "No." I say forcefully and Hannah backs up a step or two. "Surely you don't mean that Laurie?" she whispers frightened. "Lara. And yes- I do mean it!" I growl before stomping out of the kitchen and through the huge rooms until I reach the small, side door that I always use. I pull on my jacket but don't button it even though I know it is cold. I need to be cold today- I need to feel frozen or I will lose myself. I grab my phone and check the time before heaving the oak door open and leaping down the brick steps. I hear Hannah call from the doorway, "Come and get an umbrella dear, you're not properly dressed, and I don't want you to catch a cold!" I pretend I can't hear her and flip up my collar to keep some of the rain off. I walk through the grass and pouring rain for ten minutes before I reach the cab. I slide in wordlessly and we drive off. I shake my hair, already completely soaked, and smile.


	2. Chapter 2

We drive through the foggy countryside and I stare at the passing trees and wonder how anyone could ever think of England as bleak. We reach London and I am satisfied, as always, by the rush of cabs and people, and the close knit buildings. I smile grimly as I think sadly, I am home. London is, after all, my true home and although I love my new home in the country I crave the busyness of the city. We weave through cabs and I prepare myself for what I know comes ahead. I focus my thoughts and remember to say no more than necessary. I must be quick but make an impressionable stay of myself. We finally pull over and I recognise the small cafe I have frequented in the past few months, and beside it lays my destination. In a quiet voice I tell the cabbie to wait for me seeing as how I'll only be a few minutes. He nods and I feel a rush of relief that I have him as a friend, even if our relationship is a rather kurt one. I take a deep breath to steady myself before I push the cab door open and dash to the black flat door labeled 221B. I jiggle the handle, and it is as I suspected it would be-locked. I reach deep into my pockets to procure a bent hair pin, which I use to quickly let myself in. As soon as I am inside I pull the door shut and breath heavily for a moment as I drip on the small landing. I don't worry about anyone noticing me, Mrs. Hudson is out shopping. I take one final steadying breath, before I make my way up the flight of stairs. I pause outside the flat door, and listen to the haunting melody of a violin for a few moments before gently pushing the door open and stepping inside. I stand in the doorway, and observe the scene before me. A tall, black haired man, stands in front of the window, playing his violin and watching the rush of rain. The other man is shorter with blonde hair, and he sits quietly at the computer with a mug of tea beside his hand. I slam the door with my foot, and startle the shorter man, almost causing him to spill hot tea on himself. I waltz into the sitting room and fall comfortably into an armchair, pushing the union flag pillow under my bony elbow, and swinging my gangly legs over the edge of the arm. Both men stare at me, although only one looks surprised to see me. "Who are you then?" the surprised one asks and I take a moment before replying, "Your next client, Doctor Watson." I want to smile at the confused look on his face but restrain myself. I address the other man now, who has put down his violin and is staring intently at me instead. "Mr. Holmes." "If you're a client, what is your case?" he asks in an almost routine way, as if he's bored of this case already. "If you're as good as you say you are, I shouldn't have to tell you, Mr. Holmes. You should just be able to read me," I respond in kind, matching my voice to his trying to sound as bored as possible. He stares at me for a pause, "Most people prefer to-" "I'm not most people. I don't care what you make of me. Just read my case," I interrupt him. He stands back and regards me with a cold and calculating eye. I gaze around the room, taking in all my surroundings, while trying to keep a balanced look upon my face. I give Sherlock Holmes five minutes before breaking the heavy silence. "If you'd like to fill in Dr. Watson, I don't feel much like explaining myself," I say coldly to Holmes. Before he has a chance to respond, Watson interjects. "Why can't you just explain your case yourself? It seems much easier than this whole hassle." I turn my gaze on to him and reply quietly, "Because Dr. Watson, my case involves a secret. A secret buried so deep, if you swam to it, you would drown before reaching it. A secret kept away from dozens of prying hands, and I can't let just anyone in on it. I'm testing you, don't you see that Mr. Holmes? I have to test you because I have had a long list of people to ask for help with this case, and your name is at the very bottom in all capital letters. I prayed I wouldn't have to come all the way to you, the Sherlock Holmes. Famous consulting detective genius. And yet here I am, so do you see Dr. Watson why I can't just tell you my case?" He sits silently and Holmes is the one to speak next. "Why have you come to me for help then? I mean if I'm at the bottom of this list, and you don't wish to bring it to me, why have you?" I get up out of the chair and walk slowly to the door. "Because Mr. Holmes, everyone else has failed this test. And if you can't help me, well, I am going to die." I walk out the door and down the stairs to the front door. I pull out my phone and hit send,

Congratulations Mr. Holmes. You have passed my test. Meet me at ten tonight at The Rosen Estate.  
-Your client

I dash back through the rain and hop into the cab. My friend pulls away silently and I'm grateful that he doesn't ask me how it went. He drives back out of London and returns me to the estate. I don't say a word the whole time, he already knows what to do thanks to a text I sent him earlier this morning.


	3. Chapter 3

When I reach the estate I search for my dog, a loyal hound dog named Pepper. She comes running from the barn near the estate, and once she meets me we walk together into the barn. Nine velvety noses stick out over the stalls and I go down the row stroking each one softly. I separate some hay flakes out for everyone and soon the barn is filled with the content sigh of horses as they munch. I slide under the stall door at the end of the row and stroke my tall Arabian, Eunoia. I brush the dirt off her dappled white spots, stripe, and socks. The rest of her body is a glossy grey colour. I braid her mane and tail after that. I want her looking perfect. By now my stomach is in rebellion, so I grab a biscuit from the small box I keep hidden in the wall behind Eunoia's stall. Saying goodbye to Eunoia, Pepper and I return to the main house. I make my way quietly into the small sitting room that is rarely used. I gather together some kindling and light a fire. In a few minutes the fire is crackling and blazing, and my clothes begin steaming. Once they are mostly dry, I slide into a huge armchair and promptly fall asleep with Pepper curled protectively at my feet.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up to Lady Rosen gently shaking me. Her face is red, blotchy, and streaked with tears. I touch my cheek that is wet with her tears. She'd been crying for me. "What time is it?" I ask her and she looks confused by my question. "It's almost nine, Laurie dear, but why is that important?" I ignore her question and jump out of the armchair, calling to Pepper as I go. Together we run through the many sweeping rooms until we reach the kitchen. I startle Hannah but ignore her blustering and tell her to gather everyone in the main hall. I bend over and pick Pepper's face up so she looks right into my eyes. "Pepper, go and fetch Lord Rosen like a good girl!" she stares loyally at me for a second before turning and running out the door, her nails clacking on the wood floor. I search for my jacket which I had taken off upon re-entering the estate. I find it slumped in the doorway of my back entrance. I grab it and dash back to the fire place, where I hang it up to dry after taking my phone out of its pocket. By now it's 9:30. I hurry to the main hall where the whole staff is gathered, as well as Lord and Lady Rosen. They look worriedly to me as I stand tall and proud in the doorway. "Is it true? Hannah said you've got the ribbon," Elizabeth, Lady Rosen's maid, asks me in a hushed whisper. "Yes it's true. I have the ribbon. But I am not going to die, because this ends now. Help will be arriving shortly and you will cooperate with them, so help me," my voice carries through the sparsely decorated chamber. I realise now that I'm really the one in charge. Not Lord Rosen, or Lady Rosen, or Hannah. Me. I'm a teenager and they're afraid of me. I walk down the line of solemn faces, each one cowering as I pass them. I reach the door and switch on the light, a solitary beam in the dark night. I close the door behind me and wait on the grand front staircase. I check my phone- 9:55. I watch towards the road and listen tensely for the sound of a cab approaching on gravel. At precisely 10:00 I see a cab's bright headlights dart through the country gloom. I don't move, barely breathing in anticipation, letting the cold sweep through my mind and body. The cab doors slam, startling Pepper who sits beside me. A tall figure, Sherlock Holmes, and a shorter one trailing behind, Dr. Watson, approach the front step. None of us say a word, I merely open the door and let them in. Once inside the main hallway I turn to Sherlock, "One of you will come with me out onto the moor to investigate and the other will stay here and talk to the household staff as well as Lord and Lady Rosen, to learn more about this case. Who's it gonna be?" Without a moments hesitation Sherlock walks over and stands by me staring pointedly at John. "Well I guess that's decided then," John mutters under his breath as he stands awkwardly in front of the entirety of the Rosen Estate. Hannah starts sobbing on to Elizabeth's shoulder, and he hurries over murmuring softly, "It's alright, I'm a doctor." Sherlock seems to lack compassion as he turns and follows me through the house to my side door and out to the barn.


	5. Chapter 5

He walks around staring at everything and anything while I lead Eunoia out of her stall and slide her bridle on. We leave the barn and once outside I ask him, "Have you ever ridden a horse before Mr. Holmes? Because you will need to tonight." He stares at me and says nothing for longer than seems polite so I answer for him, "Well no I haven't, but that's fine I'll give you a boost and then get up myself because that's the only way to get out to one of several crime scenes." We stare at each other, as if sizing each other up, before he laces his hands one on top on the other with his palms facing up. I step lightly and quickly from his hand, swinging my long leg over Eunoia's back. She is quite tall, and I extend a hand to Sherlock, although he is a few inches taller than me, measuring about 6 feet. He swings ungracefully onto her back and settles behind me, his arms dangling awkwardly at his side. "Do hold on Mr. Holmes. I don't want you falling off anytime soon." "Hold on to what?" he asks quietly as he looks side to side, as if searching for a handle. "Me, you bloody idiot," I say with a smirk as I dig my heels into Eunoia's side and she leaps into a full gallop. He wraps his arms around my waist but not very tightly, as if he thinks he won't need to. How very stupid of him. Eunoia's mane comes out of its braid as we ride through the night, her hooves pounding over the turf. We bend wildly around a corner, Eunoia knows the way. I almost forget about Sherlock as I savour the feeling of freedom Eunoia gives me. She is the wings I lack, and together we can fly. My eyes have been closed and suddenly I flick them open. I see the dim outline of a fallen tree through the fog. "Hold on tight now Sherlock!" I yell over the rush of wind as we approach the natural jump. That is the first time I call him Sherlock. 3...2...1... Eunoia soars over the log with room to spare, and Sherlock finally holds on tight as we are pulled out of flight by the harsh laws of gravity. I relax again, although his arms remain tensed and pressed awkwardly against my stomach. I want him to trust my wings so I decide to do something that proves my trust of Eunoia. Without any warning I drop the unnecessary reins, they were only ever there for his reassurance, and spread my arms out to my side, like wings from a bird. I laugh, wildly, and his grip loosens a bit. I close my eyes and throw my head into the wind, following Eunoia's steady motion with my whole body. After a few long seconds, I feel Sherlock's arms slowly unwind themselves from around my waist, and soon they are spread just like mine. I am surprised. I did not think he would trust anyone this quickly.


	6. Chapter 6

We arrive at the moor several minutes later and Eunoia slows down to a walk as we approach, before stopping altogether. I wait a moment as Sherlock awkwardly dismounts behind me, landing on the ground beside me, before I slide smoothly off her back and give her a quick rub. I slide the reins over her head and begin walking to the pit. My breathing catches a bit as we get closer, and for a moment I hear her scream and I hear her final wet breath, I hear my own sobbing and unmaking, but I quickly shake my head and dispel the awful thoughts. I will have to explain them soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

We walk down into the pit and I can tell he's waiting for an explanation. "Sherlock Holmes. Here. I can't believe it." I whisper quietly to myself and shake my head, dispelling as many negative thoughts as possible. "Look, I know you want some sort of explanation, and I'd love to give you the whole story, but this case goes years back so I'm going to keep it short." I don't wait for him to reply and begin explaining while I still can. "About fifty years ago, a maidservant in the manor woke up with a crimson ribbon tied to her neck and an manilla envelope folded into her hand. The letter said, 'We are coming for you. We will have our revenge. We will slit your throats one by one until you return what is ours.' it was signed with three large S's. The envelope was addressed to The Rosen Estate and her ribbon was stamped with a small black 360. Exactly 15 days later she was found in her bed with her throat slit and her neck running red, a new ribbon with a stamped 0 tied around her wound. The story was hushed up, and the police were never called. The Rosen family had a reputation to uphold. All new staff were hired and the story forgotten or thought of as local myth. That wasn't the only time though, in these past fifty years 13 girls have been killed. Each death far enough apart that people didn't actually realise the problem. Until me. Until the past year. 3 girls have been killed in the past year, one of them killed here, yesterday. All of the victims were found with a ribbon tied on their neck and a number stamped on it." I pause here, choking on air and feeling my breath catch in my chest. I hear her screaming, so loud, so close. I fall into a curled mess on the ground and cover my ears, screaming with every ounce of my being, yelling and screeching at the sky. I close my eyes and I watch as the sharp knife glints in the moonlight as it quickly and harshly cuts through her delicate skin. Sobs rack through my narrow frame as I pound on the ground with clenched fists . "Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it" I scream in a steady chant. And thens he's holding me and I feel safe suddenly. His smell is so familiar and comforting, I breathe it in with deep breaths and press my face into his shoulder. He feels awkward with his arms around me but doesn't say anything and doesn't let go. I sob into his coat for a few more minutes until I get the scream out of my head, replaced by his gentle shhhh-ing as he strokes my hair and rocks me slightly. I finally quiet down and neither of us say anything. I just sit beside him, wrapped up in his arms and let us sit there, in the bottom of the pit. To calm my mind I perform a simple exercise. I look at him and make some observations, challenging my brain to make as many deductions as possible. "Shower this morning; new soap; played violin for 3, no 4, hours; slept on the couch again, only for an hour; worked in the morgue today; Mrs. Hudson messed up the sock drawer again..." I trail off because he is looking at me with slightly impressed eyes. I remember then that he does this all the time, making grand deductions from all sorts of details, that it's his job and that he does it so much better than me. I blush at my feeble attempts of deduction. He opens his mouth to speak and I know that the question is coming. "She was my friend, Beth. She was killed here last night. She- she wouldn't listen to me when I told her about the ribbon. She called it superstition. She said that it was just a myth. I tried to tell her about the 2 other girls before her this year but she wouldn't believe me. She said it was just a joke. She had a 72. Last night, we were riding up here to get away. She was gonna take a vacation day and we were going to spend the night in this abandoned barn just on the other side of this pit. She insisted on going exploring down here, so we left the horses tied up on that tree. We came down to that area right over there and that's when they came out. They grabbed her and forced her hands behind her back. They held this long knife up to her throat, and they killed her. They just killed her. I wa hiding behind some bushes but I guess they saw me because this morning I woke up with this." I pull the collar of my jacket down and point at the crimson ribbon tied to my neck. "What's the number?" he asks me quietly. I don't mind the question very much because it's better than the question, the one I barely avoided having to answer. "48," I tell him in an almost whisper. "You have two days don't you." It wasn't a question. He had figured it out quickly. The numbers were always in increments of 24, more specifically the 24 hours in a day. I have 48 hours. 2 days. He moves away and starts examining the crime scene. Occasionally he pulls out a small magnifying glass and examines a patch of dirt or some bark on a tree. I don't say anything and I don't ask any questions. He spends 7 minutes looking around before brushing past me and walking out of the pit. I follow and we mount on to Eunoia and ride back in silence, all the joy of the ride left back on the ground where I had cried. The ride was quick and silent. I let Eunoia gallop all the way to the barn before pulling her to a quick stop. Sherlock slid off stiffly and I jump down and lead Eunoia into her stall. I give her a quick rubdown and put on a light blanket. We walk back up to the estate and we find John waiting for us on the from steps with his head in his hands. "Sherlock!" he jumps up when he sees us emerge from the fog. "This case... I don't know Sherlock. It seems complicated." "I hardly think so John." he responds with a tone of confidence while the light dances on his raven black hair. My life is in good hands. I smile tiredly and walk up to stand beside them. "He'll take you home, or wherever it is you need to go now," I say as I point at my friend's shiny black cab that has pulled up. "We'll have this solved soon, don't worry Miss...?" John trails off as he realises he doesn't even know the name of the girl who's hires him. I open the door of the cab and let them slide in before I extend my hand to John. "Lara. Lara Holmes." With that I slam the door and the cab pulls away, leaving them with another mystery to solve.


	8. Chapter 8

Up in my room, I don't sleep. I can't. I just keep thinking about him. Everything about him seemed right. Just the way I always imagined him. I can tell pretty easily that John is one of his only friends, and that he doesn't get along well with the rest of his family. Our family. I can't get used to that. He has a bad relationship with his brother Mycroft especially. Our brother Mycroft. Somehow, we were different. Unlike with Mycroft, he seemed to trust me. And he didn't even know who I was. I have known that he is emotionless, that he's a machine, but when he rode behind me with his arms spread out, and when he held me as I cried, I swear he was the most human human I've ever met. Sherlock Holmes, my big brother, is the greatest mystery of the night, by far. I stay awake all night, lying with my head in the window staring up at the stars and imagining our future. The future of me, and Sherlock, and everyone.


	9. Chapter 9

I roll out of bed at 4 in the morning. I didn't sleep at all but I feel fine. I search for my phone and finally find it, quickly sending a text to my friend. 15 minutes later I send a text to Sherlock Holmes.

Cab waiting outside.  
LH

I know he will be awake. Just like me, I know he wouldn't have been able to sleep. He replies almost immediately,

John is still sleeping.  
SH

I smile and reply quickly.

Come alone.  
LH

He takes longer to reply this time, a whole minute.

Where are we going today?  
SH

I imagine him sitting in the back of the cab, texting me and wondering.

It's a surprise.  
LH

I know he hates surprises but I couldn't resist.


	10. Chapter 10

I went to bed in my clothes, so I change quickly and make my way downstairs quietly. I slip silently like a ghost through the empty rooms and open the front doors. Outside it's still dark and dense fog surrounds the estate. The air feels clean and fresh in my lungs and I realise with a jolt that these could be some of my last breaths. I gulp the air down as if, just in case Sherlock fails, this is my last day and I can take a lifetime of breaths. I sit on the steps, waiting impatiently for the cab to arrive. I shiver every time I think of seeing him again. It's all so foreign to me, having a brother. And of course he's no ordinary brother. But I'm hardly ordinary either so I guess it makes sense. The cab's bright headlights finally break through the fog and I jump up in anticipation. I practically run to the cab, and pull the door open with a bit too much force, startling Sherlock who is sitting inside. I slide in and slam the door. "Where should we go?" I ask him, even though I said it was a surprise. "I'm not sure. I thought you knew where we were going?" I wiggle my eyebrows mischievously and with a grin I tell him, "I lied. Shhh don't tell anyone." He looks confused and I remember: socially awkward. "It's a joke. I was just joking around, you know, messing with you." "Of course you were. That was obvious," he says trying to sound confident. I raise my eyebrows at him but don't say anything. An idea lights up in my mind and I lean forward and whisper something in the cabbie's ear. He nods slightly as we enter London. I don't bother telling Sherlock to close his eyes, I know he'll figure out where we are no matter what. A few roads later we stop and I let Sherlock get out before telling the cabbie to come back in an hour and get us. He pulls away and I grab the sleeve of Sherlock's long, ridiculous coat. "C'mon." I pull him down the street and down a dark alley way. It may be early, but I still see a few people out walking and there are some cars driving on the road. For the most part though it is quiet and dark. The alley way opens up into a square courtyard lined with sleazy looking shops. I drag him over to a small shop crammed in the far left corner of the courtyard. The door is locked but I fumble with it in the dark for a few minutes before it pops open. He's standing back with his hands in his pockets, watching me carefully. I roll my eyes in disgust and push him into the dusty store. "Wait here, I'll be right back. You can look around but don't touch anything." I enunciate the last words slowly. I doubt he'll listen to me but it was worth a try. I move down the dangerously crowded rows of odds and ends before disappearing from his sight completely and stopping at the very back row. Shelves line the back wall from top to bottom, but that's not what I'm looking for. It's dark in the back and I search my pockets for a few seconds before pulling out my phone and using it like a torch. It takes me longer than normal to find what I'm looking for: a small black button on the middle shelf between two cardboard boxes filled with old scientific papers. I finally find it and let out a quiet cheer before pressing it down and watching as the small rectangular section of the wall above it pops out, revealing a hollowed out box about a foot deep. I reach inside, my fingers scraping the sides until I find why I'm looking for; a plastic bag with samples inside. I hurry back to the front of the shop where I left Sherlock, and find him holding up a skull for inspection. "I thought I told you not to touch anything," I shake my finger at him but my voice has a light tone. He merely shrugs and puts it back on the precarious stack it was originally balanced on. "What is this place?"Sherlock asks me with a sweeping gesture. "It's a mate's shop," I pause and hold up the plastic bag dramatically, "and a decent hiding place."


	11. Chapter 11

We walk over to the morgue after that and I ask him to let us in, since for once I don't have a key. We go up to the lab and I hand him the plastic bag. "These are some blood samples I managed to get two days ago. And I found this stuck to a tree near the murder location," I hold up a small swatch of black fabric with plastic gloves on. He pulls on some plastic gloves too and takes it from me, going over to the equipment. "Weren't you too...distraught?" he asks me. I chuckle, "Any ordinary person would have been. But I'm not ordinary. You know that. Sure, I was sad, she was one of my only real friends, but I couldn't possibly be too distraught to not work." Sherlock nods and gets to work analysing the sample. We only have about 45 minutes until my friend will pull up outside St Bart's in his shiny cab and wait to take us someplace else. At 5:15 Sherlock lifts his head up from the equipment, "Come see what you make of this," he says to me where I wait at the door. I walk over and lean down to the samples, my arm thrown over his shoulders for support. He stiffens at my touch but I just roll my eyes. He'll have to get used to me at some point. Just as I start telling him what I see, the door to the lab swings open to reveal a very confused looking woman. She has long brown hair that is pulled into a pony tail that hangs over her shoulder, she wears a white lab coat over a floral sweater, and brown pants covered in cat hair. Sherlock doesn't even notice her but I do, mainly for the fact that she's inspecting me from head to foot, and when her eyes travel to my arm thrown around Sherlock's shoulders her face goes red. Clearly she has a crush on my brother. "Who are you?" she asks glaring in my direction. I step away from the lab table and walk up to her with my hand out. We shake hands as I tell her, "I'm Lara Holmes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Molly Hooper." She yanks her hand away, looking like I've just slapped her. "Sherlock you never told me you were married! I mean I always thought you-" I cut her off by laughing hysterically, I clutch at my sides and bend over trying to stop the stream of loud laughs coming from my mouth. "Us, married! I'm his sister, we only met yesterday! But us, really you thought we were- oh Molly Hooper you are hilarious!" I get each word out in between a fit of laughing. I finally calm down and leave Molly standing in the doorway to talk to Sherlock. "There's a bit of bark residue from the tree he was hiding in, ash from a very rare type of cigar made only in a remote village in Siberia, dirt from an area near a body of water, and some pollen from what appears to be a geranium." He nods and I know that's the only amount of praise I'll ever get from him. "Now we begin the search," he says as he brushes past Molly, still standing in the door way, "I'll use the homeless network." I smile as I remember that he uses the homeless network. "No need to. I already have," I tell him and he stops and turns to me for a minute. "How?" "You forget, you may have some contacts in the homeless network, but I am the homeless network. I was once one of them and I still help them." "Come on then, we've got no time to lose. There's a killer Siberian waiting for us!" Sherlock runs out of the building and hops into the cab that's already waiting for us. I slide in after him and lean against his shoulder as he talks about all the places our killer could be. I don't say anything, just lean against him and breath in his smell, listening to his rich voice and wondering what my life would have been like if we'd grown up together.


End file.
